Learning How to Live
by BlueIrishEyes
Summary: Hermione is in a whirlpool, slowing dragging herself down by her stress and selflessness. When an unexpected person emerges somewhat reluctantly into her life, will he teach her how to laugh, live, and love again? INDEFINITELY DISCONTINUED
1. Prologue: Life Through My Eyes

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and never will, sadly. : (

Summary: Hermione is in a whirlpool, slowing dragging herself down through her stress and selflessness. An unexpected person emerges, somewhat reluctantly, into her life; through him, she will learn how to laugh, live, and love again.

Learning How to Live

Prologue: Life Through My Eyes

It seems the older I get, the more of myself I give away. It isn't often that I get to be alone, or even just get time to sit and think. Instead I am stretched, almost to a breaking point.

Other students, unfortunately including Harry and Ron, are always petitioning me for help, either for the answer to a homework question, the correct pronunciation of a spell, or the right wave of a wand. And I am always willing to help.

That's not a bad thing, but it is life-consuming. I can't even recall the last time I read a novel that wasn't related to school, or had a bubble bath, or slept in another hour simply because I wanted to. Still, I am forever standing by, ready to jump to anyone's aid. That's just how I am.

Sometimes, I feel used and underappreciated, as though no one cares about helping _me_. Because of this situation, I have become a master at creating a façade of happiness in the presence of other people. It's become my first instinct to plaster a smile to my tired face anytime someone approaches me, attempting to look welcoming and interested. The only problem is that I'm not happy at all on the inside.

I am pulled in a hundred different directions every day. My incredible amount of personal homework doesn't help ease my load, and I am finally starting to feel the insufferable weight of all my responsibilities as they come crashing down upon my already strained shoulders.

I have even noticed a change in myself. It's like I've almost given up, at least on any thoughts of myself. I am not really depressed, I'm just incredibly tired. But people need me, so I doggedly wake up every morning and prepare myself for an onslaught of requests, pleas, and demands.

I know there is a difference in my appearance as well. It's not enough for anyone else to notice, but I can tell. In the morning when I look in the mirror, I see a girl staring back at me. I don't know her though. I only recognize this shell of a person because I see her everyday in my own reflection.

Her eyes are slightly sunken, her cheeks are hollowed a little, and her skin is pale and lacking of any glow or vitality. Her thin frame looks breakable, like she could is made out of porcelain that is shattered at the slightest touch, and she is a few pounds underweight. Her dark eyes, once warm and full of life, are now faded and listless.

Her long brown hair is the only familiar feature. Curly, thick, and slightly frizzy, it falls down my back the same way it always has. I would never have though that I, of all people, would find comfort in my hair. But its normalness and unchanging nature are the only things I can seem to hold onto and keep real. My chocolate locks are the only thing I like about myself anymore.

If I ever let the world see me, the real me that is lonely and broken inside, they would be appalled, and maybe a little scared. They would see someone completely different from the youthful, exuberant child I used to be. I think people missed the change in me as I grew into a wiser, more cynical, and more realistic woman.

I have low expectations of the world now. Nothing surprises me anymore, and I hardly ever laugh. When I do, it's usually forced or insincere. Life has failed to make me full and satisfied.

I don't care anymore about the things I used to love. Reading and studying is a chore, and even spending time with my friends has become tedious. I don't even raise my hand in class to offer information so much anymore. I still do more often than anyone else, but not to the same extent.

I have accepted that I may never find complete happiness for myself. My only solace now is the hope that I can give enough of what is left of me to keep others from traveling down my own solemn path. Sometimes I can still feel a tiny spark in my heart when Harry or Ron smile at me in gratitude, or Neville whispers a hurried thanks, or a teacher congratulates me on a well-done essay.

But for now, I am just a fraction of what I used to be. I walk about doing everything that needs doing just to get it done. And I am so tired. Tired of working, tired of helping, and tired of feeling.

My deepest fear is that one day when I look in the mirror, I won't see anyone at all. I will eventually have destroyed myself from the inside out. I will fade into a mere shadow, for I have forgotten how to live.

A/N: Hey everyone, I hope you liked this first part, I know it was short. I have some more written and I know where the story is going to go, so keep checking back. I would absolutely love reviews, and I might not continue this story if I don't get any support, so please please please review! Also, I'd like to know if it would be better if the rest of the story continues to be in Hermione's personal point of view, or if it should be in the third person. I'd love your ideas. Thanks.


	2. Chapter 1: Forgotten How

Disclaimer: Same as before, I'm not going to post it again.

Enjoy!

Learning How to Live

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 1: Forgotten How

Hermione woke slowly on Monday morning. It was only a month into her sixth year yet she was already staying up way too late and having to get up way too early. Last night, she had been late in the common room helping three fifth-year girls write a Potions essay on the properties of bezoars in antidotal formulas. She didn't even know them very well as they are a year below her, and she only recognized one because she was a friend of Ginny.

The three girls sought Hermione out after dinner and she never has the heart to refuse pleas for help. It was just horribly irritating trying to teach students that had obviously not paid any attention to Professor Snape's lesson. They had absolutely no clue what to write and she ended up going over the whole lecture with them. It took several hours and when they were finally done the rest of Gryffindor house had already gone to bed long ago. The flames in the fireplace had grown tired and were only tentatively crackling up every few minutes. The ashes had grown dark and there was little light left. After one, she had finally trudged up the stairs to her dorm, dropped her bag carelessly beside her bed, and fell into the sheets.

Now she felt the deep, tender effects of her late-night studying as she rolled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cool floorboards with a thump. Her neck ached from looking down at a textbook and her right hand was still sore from writing too much. The outside of her hand was ink-stained and several knuckles were blackened as well. Her dark eyes felt dry and hot from being open too long and closed too little.

Blinking rapidly, she lethargically moved over to the small dresser at the foot of her four-poster bed. The other girls in the dormitory weren't up yet, so the only sound was of Hermione quietly rummaging through the top drawer.

Tiredly, she pulled a simple brown sweater over her head and fastened a pleated skirt around her thin waist. Slipping her standard black robes awkwardly over her head, she tugged them into place and shook her shoulders slightly. Stepping into plain leather flats, she quietly opened the dormitory door and padded across the hall to the girls' bathroom.

A sleepy-eyed young girl in striped pajamas was the only person inside. She smiled politely at Hermione as she finished washing her hands and stepped around her out the door.

When the younger girl had left, Hermione moved in front of the mirror hesitantly. The same lonely, tired face met her. Sighing acceptingly, she reached out a hand and twisted the four-pronged facet, filling her hands with cool water. She splashed it across her face, totally awakening her senses. It was almost refreshing, but when she looked in the mirror, the face looked just as exhausted.

Hermione let the water run and continued to stare unfeelingly at the reflection. Glassy-eyed, she stood in a trance, the endlessly flowing water the only sound as it hissed lightly.

Finally looking down from the mirror, she watched distantly as the water ran through her fingers, never keeping her cupped hands full. She wondered at its likeness to her own empty life. No matter how much she put into herself, she always gave just as much away. Frowning slightly, she opened her hands and turned off the water forcefully.

She breathed deeply for a minute to regain responsiveness, then raked her fingers through her hair to try to smooth it. Groaning exasperatedly, she gave up and tied the unruly locks back into a loose bun, wisps of brown already curling out around her porcelain face. She gave her reflection on last critical scrutiny before sighing again, turning away from the mirror, and crossing the hall into her dorm.

Kneeling gently beside her nightstand, she gathered three voluminous textbooks into a neat stack on the floor next to her. Her bag lay carelessly on the dark floorboards where she had dropped it the night before. She pulled it to her delicately, placing two of the books that would fit inside along with a long, smooth quill and a pot of black ink. Checking to make sure all her papers were in place, she stood and heaved the strap of her bag over her already tense right shoulder. She bent over to pick up the last text and cradled it in her left arm securely before tiptoeing across the floor to the door again.

Softly, as to not disturb her blissfully dreaming roommates, she pushed the door open with her left shoulder and tread down the hall, quietly stepping down the stairs to the common room.

The fire had been rekindled and now it was crackling warmly, lighting up the front of the room while leaving the rest in dim shadows, more threatening and more mysterious. The tables in the back were shrouded in darkness, but Hermione could see well enough to distinguish the usual clutter.

Forgotten books and half-filled parchment papers lay arbitrarily across each surface, dejected and useless. One table even had a tipped inkpot on its edge, the carpet underneath soaked with blue-black liquid.

Shaking her head in mild frustration, Hermione let her bag slide to the floor and dropped her book on a chair cushion. Taking a minute to close the books and stack them tidily on one table, she gathered up all the loose papers into an organized pile on another. Pulling her dependable wand out of the front pocket of her robes, she whispered a quick "Scrougify," at the damp rug under the inkpot and righted the well.

In an hour, Hermione knew her fellow Gryffindors would pound down the stairs with dreary eyes and mussed hair. They would know to look at the end of the table closet to the stairs for any missing material, because they were always courteously placed there. She also knew many of them thought that it was just another chore the house elves did, but she didn't care if anyone ever found out. Whatever time she saved those poor elves was time well-spent for her.

At last satisfied that the clutter was gone, Hermione picked up her bag and book again and strode toward the portrait, opening its slowly and carefully. The Fat Lady stirred a little in her sleep but didn't wake, slumped against the gilded frame. Her lips rose in a sort of insincere half-smile in amusement before she headed down the empty corridor towards the Great Hall.

Her shoes made ominous taps on the stone floors, echoing through the vacant corridors loudly. The torches in their brackets hadn't been put out yet and they danced eerily across the dark walls in strange patterns. Occasionally a window broke up the shadows, allowing a stream of pre-dawn gray in.

Finally reaching the colossal double doors of the Great Hall, she pried one open just wide enough for her slim body to slide through before pulling it closed again. The hall seemed cavernous without any animated students running between the tables, throwing papers, or talking raucously. The silence was deep and heavy, as if it weighed down the very air. The long windows marched down the walls like glass soldiers, straight and faceless. Each one let in pale, early-morning rays of tentative sun through their panes, graciously granting the beams entrance into the deserted hall. Dust specks caught in the dim light, dancing and twirling like fairies at a ball as they fell soundlessly to the ground to bask in the warming light. It was so still, as if the entire hall was waiting for some spectacular occasion with delayed breath, patient and steady.

Hermione felt the hall's emptiness press around her in a comforting way, caressing her skin with a soothing touch. Walking toward the middle of the long Gryffindor table, she placed her book on its antiquated wooden surface and positioned her bag beside her on the bench as she sat. The table was riddled with black pits and scrapes, adding more charm and character than disvalue and blemishes. Pausing a moment to trace a finger over a particularly deep scar, Hermione wondered at how such an object of imperfection and disfigurement could be so well-used and valued.

Sighing, she turned to her bag and withdrew several papers, her inkwell, and her quill from its secure depths, placing them neatly on the table in front of her. Opening _Transfiguration for the Adept Student_, she began to write an essay for the next week on the difficulties of transforming inanimate objects into breathing life forms.

The sun rose higher in its bright glory, now boldly streaming through the windows and illuminating the hall with a natural glow. A few early students soon joined Hermione in her study, spread out across the four tables. Two Hufflepuffs discussed discreetly over the books that lay spread before them. A single Slytherin girl Hermione knew was a seventh year quietly read over a few sheaves of parchment, occasionally rustling them as she shifted to the next paper in her stack. Three small groups of Ravenclaws were evenly spread across their house table, each with two or three students studying together. Hermione was the only Gryffindor at her table, still alone as she continued her essay.

It was the same every morning. The same students always came at the same time to do the same thing, and Hermione was always the first. She came every morning because it was the only time she found respite from other beseeching students. It was the only time for her to drink in silence, letting it calm her ever-stressed mind and fill her tired soul. She knew that if she didn't have this hour to herself, she wouldn't be able to cope with the draining rest of the day.

For a time it would peacefully quiet, and then breakfast would appear on great platters across the vast expanses of the four tables. Gradually the hall would fill and the silence would be broken, irrevocable and lost until the next morning.

When scrambled eggs appeared right beside her textbook, Hermione barely paused in her study, knowing that soon she wouldn't be able to work. Out of habit, she blindly placed two strips of bacon, a triangle of wheat toast, and half a pear on her plate. She knew where everything was without having to look up: the arrangement was the same every morning. Carefully she pulled the full pitcher of pumpkin juice on her left towards her and poured a glass for herself.

She was on the fourth page of her essay writing about common faults of life transfigurations and halfway through her toast when she was interrupted.

"Oh, Hermione, there you are. I have a question from our Charms homework. Can you help me?"

Reluctantly, the brunette Gryffindor looked up and masked her face with a smile. She closed her Transfiguration book gently and put down her quill, knowing her alone time was over, as she replied, "Sure, Lavender, sit down. What were you having problems with?"

The other girl sat down, straddling the bench to face Hermione and opened _Achievements in Charms _to a page entitled Locomotion Charms. She pointed a painted nail at the last paragraph.

"It says right here that the correct wand movement for _Compeliquick_ is a smooth downward stroke, except every time I do that, the object moves backward instead of propelling forward. What am I doing wrong?"

Hermione half-smiled. It was a common problem. Pulling out her wand, she pointed it at her cup. Glancing back at Lavender, she proceeded to correct her, "The problem is that you need more emphasis on _pel_ and less on _quick_. Watch." Turning towards her half-empty glass, she spoke clearly, "_Compeliquick!_" The cup smoothly traveled to the left until she pulled back her wand.

Lavender, with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, mimicked Hermione's actions and watched as the cup moved even more.

She smiled. "I get it now. Thanks, Hermione. You're great." She got up as she spied Parvati enter the hall and shut her book.

"I'll see you in class, Hermione," she absently mentioned. Then without a glance back, she left Hermione alone at the table.

She sighed and shook her head at Lavender's inconsideration, but didn't dwell on it because she noticed Harry and Ron enter the Great Hall. Ron was waving his hands animatedly and his face had a pink tinge to it as he argued with Harry over something Hermione couldn't hear. She smiled a bit at his antics and put her things back into her bag to make room for the two boys.

They sat down without a word to her and continued their banter as they reached to pile their plates with hotcakes, eggs, and sausage.

"But that play isn't as effective against a team using a speed technique," Ron quarreled loudly.

Harry retorted quickly. "No, it's still effective, just not as well as it is against a defensive strategy."

Ron huffed for a moment as if realizing the validity of Harry's point. Hermione took the pause as an opportunity to jump in.

"Good morning, boys. I hope you know we have Double Transfiguration first block," she commented.

Ron scowled. "Way to dampen the moment, Hermione." It was slightly distorted as his mouth was full of toast.

Harry laughed at the disgusted look on Hermione's face. "Come on, Ron. Chew before you speak or else Hermione will go into one of her what-would-your-mother-think rants. We all know we've heard enough of them."

Hermione sniffed daintily and replied, "I wouldn't have to rant, as you so eagerly put it, Harry, if you would just learn some manners, Ronald. Your mother really would be appalled."

Now both boys laughed. They seemed to think it was hilarious when Hermione became offended and put off. She, on the other hand, didn't think it was funny at all and pouted, her lips resuming their firm line.

Turning back to her plate, she spun a piece of bacon in a swirl with her fork. Quietly she waited until the two boys were finished with their large breakfasts before she pulled her bag strap over her shoulder and picked up _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_.

Interrupting another Quidditch conversation, she snapped, "Come on, we're going to be late." She knew that class wouldn't start for fifteen minutes, but she got up anyway.

Harry and Ron contritely followed at her tone after realizing they had actually insulted her.

Harry reached out and caught hold of her elbow. "Hey, Hermione, we didn't mean to upset you, we were just joking."

Ron jumped in, "Yeah, we're sorry."

She turned to them slowly, breathing deep for control. Jadedly she smiled and replied, "I know, guys. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have acted so immature. I guess I'm just tired."

Harry's black eyebrows dropped slightly. "Yeah, about that Hermione. Are you sure you're okay? You've just seemed a bit off lately. Maybe you should take a break or something. It's not good that you get up so early every morning to study." Ron nodded in agreement.

Hermione's chin came up defensively. Was she that easy to see through? Keeping her voice pleasant and normal, she responded, "I'm not _off_. I just didn't sleep well. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine once we get to class. Transfiguration always cheers me up."

Ron rolled his eyes playfully. "She's fine, Harry. I guess we'll just have to get her to Transfiguration so it can cheer her up." Harry smiled too but his eyes were still crinkled in concern.

Hermione glanced at him a little uneasily before turning and leading them to class.

Their steps rang loudly in her ears as they walked, seeming to fill her head with their uneven rhythm. She looked down as they went, watching the irregular stones disappear under her feet and slide behind her. Harry and Ron were complaining about their weekend homework, muttering belligerent and uncouth comments about their professors. Ignoring them, she didn't even scold them for their behavior.

Instead, she thought to herself as she walked. She felt so empty inside. Even during their argument earlier, she hadn't actually been upset. She was just consumed by an absence, a lack of any emotion. A living shell of a person, she wandered about fulfilling her responsibilities emotionlessly.

She used to be content, she knew that. She could almost recall that feeling, that happiness. She could almost feel a warmth, or maybe it was a lightness. But only almost.

Her heart didn't remember happiness anymore, and the worst part was that she had forgotten _how_ to remember.

A/N: I'm not pleased with the way that chapter turned out, but I got sick of editing it and decided I would just post it. I'm sorry to the readers that were waiting, but I plan to post Chapter 2 this weekend. I know the alerts aren't working either, so I'm sorry if it took awhile.

POPSICLEx3LOVE: Thanks for the input, I couldn't decide how I wanted to do the rest. Pride yourself in knowing you pushed me over the fence to your side.

Thanks to littlenosedbookworm, yummy food, POPSICLEx3LOVE, and allhugs13 for reviewing. I always appreciate comments.

Let me know if you liked it, if you hated it, or if there's something I can improve. Or just review. Yes, review, please. I need motivation!

BIE


End file.
